


Try as I Might

by lunarella



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: (surprise surprise), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Implied Sexual Content, Living Together, M/M, and Lance knows it, barely, i think i tagged everything???, keith is trying his best, very minor angst this time though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-02
Updated: 2018-03-02
Packaged: 2019-03-25 16:58:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13839105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunarella/pseuds/lunarella
Summary: After a few months of dating, Lance and Keith make the bold decision of moving in together. They fall into a functional routine and everything runs smooth-- except for a few minor hiccups.In Keith's defense, he's new at this.--Four times Keith makes household (apartment-hold??) mistakes, and one time he doesn't.





	Try as I Might

**Author's Note:**

> So I kinda promised my followers on [tumblr](https://litaluna.tumblr.com) a piece like 3 weeks ago but,,,  
> Here it is now though! I decided to do one of the four vs one time scenarios and I don't really remember how this idea came to me but here it is anyway ((:  
> Only a little bit of angst this time and I might change the title, but I always say that.

**Food**

 

The order of their relationship goes like this: Acquaintances for their first year of high school, unintentionally (reluctantly) friends for the next three years of high school, admittedly close friends their first year of college, inadvertently friends with benefits for a semester after that and then finally, official boyfriends for the past few months. It took a while, but now they are _very_ sure of their status and _very_ happy together. Altogether, that’s a solid six years that they have, at the very least, been aware of each other’s existence—even though it took the majority of those years to evaluate that the sizzling frustrations they had towards each other were just underlying feelings of attraction. It was a long, confusing and stressful run for them, but Keith and Lance at long last figured it out.

So, even though they’ve only technically been a couple for a few months, they’ve known each other for years, plural. It’s because of this, that they are both confident they can live together, not to mention that the circumstances called for it; with Hunk wanting to move out to rent with his girlfriend Shay, and Keith kind of wanting to move out from under the watchful eye of his older brother. The timing just felt right.

Come one month later, they find themselves sharing the space of what used to be Lance and Hunk’s apartment, to now, what is their own personalized home.

Lance is happy. He loves living with Keith. He loves that they’re living together, in a pretty decent apartment. It’s not the best, but it’s comfortable and mostly temporary. The location allows them rent cheap enough to afford the extra room, which they dubbed the new guest room. Lance actually pitches in a little more rent money than Keith, who protested at first, but Lance reasoned that he made more money anyway; having a big family means connections, so Lance’s oldest sister hooked him up with a well-paying job at a fancy hotel by the beach, where he also doubles as a surf instructor. The surf instructor aspect is the fun part. Meanwhile, Keith works as a car mechanic, only doing the basics since his boss felt uncomfortable with him digging around too deep in cars without a degree in mechanics.

So, everything is running smooth, Lance thinks, even though it’s only been a few weeks of them living together. He loves waking up next to Keith, loves when Keith hops onto the kitchen counter to watch him cook, loves lazy days spent on the couch with him. Mostly, he loves watching all of Keith’s walls come down, replaced with the walls of the home they’ve made together.

What he doesn’t love though? Coming home from work late at night to find Keith sitting on the couch watching reruns of Star Trek while sloppily eating Raviolis _straight out of a Chef Boyardee can._

“Keith,” Lance deadpans, barely having set foot into threshold, a messenger bag still loosely hanging from his shoulder. His eyes are firm on Keith, who stares back as he stuffs a whole ravioli or two into his mouth. His brows are furrowed in confusion at Lance’s apparent shock, like eating cold raviolis from a can is totally normal. Lance almost shudders.

There’s tidbits of the red tomato sauce around his mouth and Lance wonders why in God’s name it’s endearing to him that Keith somehow managed to get sauce on his forehead too. Love is just really weird like that, he concludes in his head.

“What?” Keith asks, raising a brow, completely inept to the oddity of his current predicament. Lance blinks once, twice, looks between Keith and the offending can in his hand, blinks again.

“ _Keith,”_ Lance repeats, eyes glued to the can and almost gags as Keith forks another bite into his mouth.

“ _What?”_ Keith replies impatiently, dropping his fork into the can with a clank to gesture with his now free hand, emphasizing his confusion.

After a moment of silence, the two of them staring at one another, Keith seems to cave, shoulders slumping as he rolls his eyes. “I know we’re not supposed to eat from the hurricane reserve, but we’re going shopping tomorrow anyway and I figured we could just get more.” Keith shrugs, as if that’s what’s supposed to quell Lance’s overall concern.

“Wait,” Lance furrows his brows in confusion, “That’s from the hurricane reserve?” Keith nods slowly with raised brows, taking another bite. For some reason that bothers Lance way less than the idea of Keith just straight up eating cold raviolis from a can. Not even in a bowl, heated up. Nope. Straight from the can like some kind of goddamn early humanoid troglodyte. “Alright, whatever, that’s not— Keith, why are you eating straight out of a ravioli can?”

Keith, brow raised, ravioli sauce still on his forehead, shrugs. “Because I was hungry?” he replies, as if it were obvious. “And, I wanted raviolis,” he admits, so purely it’s almost cute. Almost. Lance imagines that Keith used to live off a majority canned food diet before people started cooking actual food for him.

“No, Keith, babe, I mean _why_ the can? You know we have a microwave, a stove and pots and stuff. _Bowls?”_ Lance is at least grateful Keith has a fork.

Keith rolls his eyes because clearly Lance is the one being irrational and confusing here.  

“Why would I go through dirtying dishes when I can just eat it from the can?” Keith reasons, shoveling more sad, cold ravioli into his mouth. Lance doesn’t know how this man has managed to stay alive for the past 23 years. He sets a mental reminder to thank Shiro later, for ensuring Keith’s survival for the better part of his adolescence.

As if on cue, Spock says from the TV, _“He makes a logical point, captain.”_ Lance looks over at the TV, affronted.

“Shut up, Spock,” Lance hisses incredulously, to which Keith replies,

“Don’t tell Spock to shut up.” Their eyes lock, sauce still on Keith’s forehead, counteracting the scowl on his face, which is also counteracted by the can in his hand and that's, of course, the moment when Lance is struck by how in love he is with this man.

Lance sighs as he runs a hand through his hair, looking up and thinking to the invisible man in the sky _“It’s a miracle Keith hasn’t died from food poisoning yet, so I guess you’re real”._

“Scoot,” Lance warns as he approaches the couch, giving Keith barely enough time to shift away before Lance almost sits on his lap. As soon as he’s settled, Keith’s head tilts to rest on Lance’s shoulder. Lance looks over to Keith, whose dark eyes are fixed on the TV screen. Lance always used to like bright, colorful eyes before Keith. Probably the media skewing his interpretation of what beauty is. He wishes he could have realized sooner how beautiful dark, inky eyes are. Something about the softness to them draws Lance in now, makes them so much easier to look at while still being so much harder to read because their intensity is hidden. On impulse, Lance raises a hand to thumb at the sauce on Keith’s forehead, letting it linger before drawing back and wiping it onto his own black jeans (they’re getting washed anyway). Keith looks over at Lance, curious. Lance shrugs.

“Just felt like touching your beautiful face,” he doesn’t exactly lie. Lance secretly thinks Keith’s messy eating habits are adorable. Keith stares at him, one brow quizzically raised before his expression falters into something soft, and he fails to bite back a grin.

“Whatever,” he says, despite shifting closer to Lance, who drapes an arm along the back of him.

Well, Lance might take it back a little, if only because for whatever goddamn reason, he does kind of love coming home to Keith eating straight out of a ravioli can. He just kind of hopes it never happens again. Kind of.

He really should teach Keith how to cook.

 

**Shopping**

So, in retrospect, Lance really should have known better than to tell Keith to finish shopping while he went to order them subs from the store’s deli. For whatever reason, he thought he wouldn’t come back to a cart filled with two bags of jumbo marshmallows, at least four different packs of cookies, containers of instant mac n’ cheese all among other assortments of junk food.

Currently, Keith has his nose in the bread aisle, which is actually reasonable, considering they do need bread.

“Keith,” Lance calls, watching as Keith plucks a loaf of bread from the shelf to carelessly drop it into the cart. He turns toward Lance.

“Lance,” he parrots, already moving the cart dutifully toward wherever his stomach brings him next. Lance follows with an exhale, walking alongside Keith as he scans the shelves.

“We have two bags of jumbo marshmallows,” Lance points out, carefully dropping their premade subs into front bench of the cart. Lance also moves the bread from where Keith had carelessly dropped it into the cart to sit alongside their subs—keeps it from getting squashed. Keith nods.

“Yup.”

“Why?”

“They were buy one get one,” Keith replies, squinting at Lance in confusion. “They all were,” Keith explains and gestures at the cart’s contents. Lance nods. Of course, they were.

“Well, at least you know how to budget.” Lance peers down at the assortment of junk food in the cart. Admittedly, Lance was pretty surprised when he first found out Keith had a major sweet-tooth and overall adherence to junk-food. It’s actually kind of cute, since Keith is such a tough, moody guy at first glance. Even now, with a cart packed full of it, Lance finds it endearing, albeit mildly exhausting and wallet-draining.

Lance almost trips when Keith suddenly stops in front of him, perking up like an alert cat. Lance quirks a brow at him curiously. Keith returns the look stoically before stating, _“Gelato”_ and rushes off toward the freezer section with the cart. Lance only stares in his wake for a long moment before sighing exasperatedly into his hands, “God, I fucking love him,” and heads towards the freezer aisle where he plans to revoke Keith of his cart-manning privileges. He’s let the power get to his head.

Mentally, Lance adds shopping to the list of things he needs to show Keith how to do.

 

 **Dishes**  

It had been a while since Lance and Keith both had the weekend off. It felt nice to be able to sleep in, worry-free and lounge around the apartment in sweatpants as opposed to a surf suit or a prim, white button-up.

Lance and Keith had begun what Lance thinks (hopes) is their morning routine on their mornings together; Lance cooking the two of them breakfast (French toast, this time) while Keith sits on the counter space beside the stove, either mixing things for Lance or just watching from his perch. These are Lance’s favorite mornings. It gives him a tease for what the future might hold for them— domestically speaking. It’s wishful thinking, and Lance isn’t even sure if it’ll go that far but… he likes to imagine. Hopefully there will be a little bit more of Keith cooking, but they’re working on teaching him how to make more than just eggs and grilled sandwiches. It’s a work in progress. They threw bacon into the mix the other day and it ended with Keith having a pot lid in one hand to defend himself against the onslaughts of popping hot oil while he poked at the bacon with the longest spatula he could find, all the while reminding (screeching at) Lance that _“This is dangerous! Why do you ever do this?”._ The memory brings a smile to Lance’s face as he flips the toast splayed before him.

Keith has a warm cup of coffee in his hands, no doubt loaded with creamer and sugar. His legs sway gently off the counter as he takes short sips from the mug, and Lance catches him sending glances his way over the rim. Lance breathes a laugh.

“What?” Keith asks, quirking a brow, his cup held a few inches from his lips.

“Nothing,” Lance shrugs, “Just you, casting longing gazes every few seconds at my stunning complexion.” Keith scoffs and kicks at Lance’s upper thigh, smirking.

“You started it.”

“Mmm, nope.”

“Yeah, earlier, I saw you staring.” Keith says, and Lance can kind of recall doing just that. Keith hadn’t even looked particularly cute, since he’d just rolled out of bed, his hair an unruly mess at the time as he messily brushed his teeth. Well, to Lance it was cute. He smirks and shrugs, looking down at the stove.

“Well, can you blame me?” Lance says suavely with a smirk. They lock eyes again and Lance’s grin grows once he sees the apparent shock on Keith’s face. Keith scoffs a laugh once he regains his wits, a light blush dusting his cheeks as he swings out a foot to whack at Lance’s thigh again.

“Sap.”

“You love it,” Lance accuses. Keith rolls his eyes despite his grin, raising his mug to his lips. Lance watches him do so, wrinkling his nose in mild distaste. ~~~~

“I don’t know how you can drink that,” Lance comments, referring to the amount of sugar in Keith’s coffee. Keith pointedly takes another sip, looking right at Lance as he does so.

“We need more creamer, by the way.” Keith says on that note, pulling the mug from his lips with a refreshed sigh. Lance gawks.

“We just bought some!” he says, incredulously. Keith shrugs, hopping off the counter to place his mug in the sink.

“Well, we need more,” Keith states. Lance shakes his head.

“Just looking at you gives me a toothache,” Lance comments.

“I’m not that sweet,” Keith snorts before walking away in the direction of their room. Lance’s smile lingers on his lips as he moves toward the dishwasher to grab a pair of freshly clean plates, courtesy of Keith after he so righteously offered to load them.

As Lance pops open the dishwasher, a puff of warm steam seeps out. He reaches for two plates, still warm from the wash, but stops short when he notices something peculiar sitting in the bottom rack. He squints, placing the plates on the counter before he moves closer to the objects.

There, alongside the silverware sits an assortment of tools entirely unrelated to cooking. Lance closes his eyes and sighs before reaching forward to pluck out a pair of locking pliers, glistening if not for the wash. He messes with them for a second, opening and shutting them thoughtfully before he runs his free hand over his face with a dejected sigh.

 “Keith,” he calls, keeping his tone mutual. There’s a muffled _“yeah”_ before Keith is walking out of their room, the top portion of his hair now pulled back into a ponytail, as the rest refuses to be tamed.

“Oh hey, it worked, they look new,” Keith casually says as he saunters up to Lance and slips the tool from his palm. As he examines it, his expression a variation of surprised and pleased but not in the least bit ashamed or embarrassed. Lance breathes a deep sigh.

“Yeah, so do the other previously dirt-caked and grease soaked tools you put in the machine that cleans the stuff we eat with.” Keith simply nods, still donning a pleased expression at the shimmering tool in his hands.

“Nice.” Lance facepalms so hard, he startles Keith. When Lance drags his hand down his face to see Keith’s concerned and alarmed expression, he groans.

“What is your problem?” Keith demands with furrowed and concerned brows.

“Keith, you can’t put non-dish-related tools into the _dishwasher_ ,” Lance states.

“It worked, so clearly I can.” Keith walks over to the dishwasher and begins plucking out the rest of the tools to lay them onto the counter, occasionally pausing to examine them.

“Just because you can, doesn’t mean that you _should_ ,” Lance berates. Keith continues unaffected, examining the tools once they’re all lined flat on the counter. “Why would you put those in the dishwasher?” Lance asks, watching incredulously. Keith shrugs.

“Because they were dirty,” he offers matter-of-factly. “I figured that if the dishwasher managed to clean out that pan I burned soup in—”

“Which I still think was impressive—”

“Shut up. I figured it could also get off all of the stuff that was on these and it _did_ so,” Keith picks up and inspects another tool that just looks like a really complicated wrench to Lance.

“This was a one-time thing though, right?” Lance hopes. Keith does not seem to hear, however, too transfixed with the shimmering tools before him. He swipes up what tools he can hold before walking off toward where his toolbox sits on a shelf near the front door.

“Grab the ones I missed,” he requests. Lance wants to protest—almost does, but… _Christ_ , Keith is such a ditz sometimes and it is equal parts adorable as it is mildly frustrating and Lance hates it and by that, he means that he hates that he loves it.

So, reluctantly, he grabs the few tools Keith couldn’t carry and follows him to the toolbox, all the while thinking of ways to explain to Keith that just because he _can_ wash his tools in the dish washer, doesn’t mean he should.

 

**Laundry**

Mondays are still the worst days in the world, by Lance’s book. Sunday is a close second though, if only because it brings along the impending presence of Monday, so really, it’s only bad by association. Unfortunately, Monday is the first day of the week Lance usually has work. Thankfully, however, he doesn’t have to go until later. Unthankfully, though, he gets home later and Keith usually gets home even _later_. That simple fact makes Mondays a million times worse because on top of getting home late, he can’t even come back to snuggle up next to his man in bed.

At least for the next few hours though, until Lance has to head off to work, they have the morning together. Keith makes them both omelets as Lance loosely monitors, only a little concerned. Fortunately, eggs are something Keith actually knows how to cook. Shiro mentioned to him once him that it’s because they were his favorite when he was a kid, so one day he was determined enough to learn how to make them. When his next doctor checkup came around, his cholesterol was alarmingly high. Now he has to limit himself to only two egg related things a week, for the sake of his health.

After breakfast, they settle on the couch, both of them with their laptops open on their laps as they try to knock out some online homework together. Keith’s beside him donning a pair of reading glasses—something Lance figured out Keith used once they started dating. It’s decidedly Lance’s favorite thing because they make Keith look intolerably sexy.

It’s with much reluctance that Lance eventually decides to actually get ready for work, standing from his comfortable positon where he’d been pressed against Keith’s side. He treads across the cold flooring to laundry room, sighing with averseness as he opens the dryer and readies to load all the freshly cleaned clothes into a basket when he realizes an alarming amount of pink. He pauses in confusion, looking over the articles of clothing. He can’t recall owning so much pink and it dawns on his a second later that they don’t. He kneels and peaks further into the recesses of the dryer, where he inevitably finds the culprit and plucks out one of Keith’s red V-necks. With a steadying sigh, Lance drops his forehead against the cool, white metal of the dryer. He glances back over to where his work uniforms are, his previously white button-ups now stained a light pink.

Lance breathes long and deep for a moment before he brings himself upright. Just his luck that this would happen to the load containing all of his white button-ups. Lance considers that maybe this is karma for postponing laundry until the very last second.

Lance stands there for a moment, unsure how to approach this. He’s not really mad. He just doesn’t really know what to do with five different pastel pink shirts, or how to break it to Keith.

After letting out a sigh, he eventually just smirks to himself and he slips on a top anyway, rolling the sleeves to his elbows and stepping into his black slacks before he waltzes back into their small living area. ~~~~

“Keith,” he calls, and as he rounds the corner into their small living area, Keith is just standing up, stretching his arms above his head as his joints pop.

“Hm,” Keith hums as he slowly turns toward Lance. His brows furrow once they land on Lance, or more specifically his pink shirt. “When did you get that?” he asks. Lance shrugs.

“Oh, you know, a while ago when I dragged you out shopping with me to take advantage of the BOGO sales for button-ups.” Lance explains, casually, barely repressing a smile at Keith’s complete and utter confusion.

“But you only bought white shirts.” Lance nods. “For work.” Lance nods again. Keith blinks quizzically and subtly shakes his head at him, like everyday Lance makes less and less sense. Ironic.

It’s then that Lance raises his hand, revealing to Keith one of his red shirts and tosses it toward him. Keith singlehandedly catches it.

“Your shirt,” Lance states. Keith holds it out and examines it, brows raised.

“Oh,” Keith says, obviously not reading the situation correctly because the confusion on his face hasn’t entirely disappeared. He glances between the Lance and the shirt. “Okay.”

“Yeah, I found it with my laundry, along with a few of your other clothes,” Lance explain. Keith nods.

“Yeah, I put them in with yours when I realized you were washing your clothes anyway—”

“The whites,”

“The what?” Keith questions. Lance steps towards Keith until he’s in arm’s reach.

“I was washing the whites—as in my white clothes, hence all my work shirts.” Keith’s brows are nearly conjoined, one, they’re so close together. Lance reaches a hand out toward the red fabric in Keith’s hands to pinch it between two fingers, looking down at it as he speaks.

“Babe, do you know what happens when you put colored clothing in to wash with white clothing?” Keith looks away in thought, biting his bottom lip.

“They… get cleaned?” Keith tries with his big, dark eyes set on Lance and Lance wasn’t actually upset in the first place but even if he were, that face right there would have snuffed out any negative feelings.

“No, babe. They bleed. Especially red fabric,” Lance supplies, his tone light and neutral.

Keith stares at him for a moment, lips slightly parted. Lance can practically see the wheels turning in his brain as Keith slowly registers the situation. His eyes widen in understanding as they land on Lance’s pastel pink shirt and back to the one currently in his hands.

“I dyed all your white shirts pink, didn’t I?”

“Mhm.” Keith stares at the shirt on Lance’s body, bottom lip sucked into his mouth.

“I’ll… get you new ones?” Keith offers. Lance shrugs.

“I mean, it’s a good color on me,” Lance says, smugly, holding his arms out. Keith’s expression remains unreadably blank, but Lance doesn’t miss the way his eyes trail down his body, his bottom lip tucked sinfully between his teeth.

“I don’t know. Nude suits you better.” Lance’s smirk falls flat.

“If this your way of changing the topic—”

“Never.”

“It’s working.” Keith bites at his bottom lip, a sly grin tugging at his lips.

Lance has him straddled on the couch no more than a few seconds later.

Needless to say, he ends up being a little late to work.

 

**#**

Keith has been acting odd, lately. At first, Lance didn’t think much of it because Keith is a troubled man and sometimes his past catches up to him, wraps itself around his ankles and drags him down. It happens. Lance doesn’t like it, but it happens. Usually, Lance just tries his best to be supportive by smothering Keith with his love and affection, which works better than some might think, taking into considering Keith’s overall tough-guy disposition. 

However, it’s when Lance gets back from work one day to find Keith already home, sitting on the couch watching TV whilst eating a bowl of ice cream, spoon half in his mouth that he considers this might be different. Lance looks just as surprised as Keith does.

“Hey,” Lance greets with raised brows, groceries hanging from his arms after a quick run to the store. Keith hesitantly puts his bowl down onto the coffee table.

“Hey,” he says back. “You’re home early.” Lance is in fact home early, but Keith is home even earlier.

“Yeah, you too.” Lance says as the door clicks shut behind him. Keith doesn’t usually get home until an hour or two after Lance, who would like to stress the fact that _he himself_ is home early.

“I… got sent home early,” Keith mutters. Lance frowns.

“Are you sick? I can make you soup,” Lance offers, but Keith immediately rejects with a shake of his head.

“No, it’s fine. I just felt a little out of it, today,” Keith explains, which doesn’t quell any of Lance’s concerns. Keith’s never been sent home early—he usually zeros in on his tasks once assigned them and Lance can’t imagine he was sent home if not for being clumsy. Truly, he’s got a temper, but it’s never created tensions between him and other employees. He’s gotten better with that.

Lance looks on as Keith twiddles his ice cream with his spoon, not looking at Lance. Lances wishes sometimes that he could just read Keith’s mind, but he knows it’s harder for Keith to explain things like this than it is for Lance to patiently wait for him. So, he lets out a silent breath.

“Well,” Lance starts, raising his arms which are still being weighed down by the groceries, “Help me make soup anyway.” Lance smiles at him, hoping to uplift whatever mood Keith is under. Keith allows his dark eyes to land on Lance in a moment of consideration before he stands, bowl in one hand as he uses the other to help Lance carry groceries. Lance is sure to press a kiss to Keith’s temple on their way into the kitchen.

As Lance begins laying pots and pans out onto the stove, Keith unpacks the groceries from their plastic confines, putting away whatever ingredients Lance says he doesn’t need. Keith helpfully stands beside him, measuring out this and that, or mixing something for Lance.

They do this pretty often together. Lance usually enjoys it because he’s a sucker for domestic scenarios. To be honest, that’s all he’s ever wanted, despite the many relationships he fell in and out of in prior years. He never wanted friends with benefits, or flings. It’s not that he’s against that lifestyle because life is short and people should have fun, but it wasn’t for him—always left him feeling empty and insufficient. For all his flirtatiousness and one night stands back then, something like this is really all he was looking for; just to find somebody to be close to and fall in love with.

They _are_ close, but at this moment, although Keith is very much there physically, he isn’t _there_. He’s not making playful jabs at Lance, flicking powder at him, or anything that Lance has grown fond of. He just goes about his movements like a meticulous machine, void of all his typical Keith qualities. It’s concerning.

It only makes Lance feel a little better when Keith lets his head falls against his shoulder, watching as Lance’s hands instinctively maneuver their way around the stovetop (he’s not as good a chef as Hunk, but he’s learned a lot from helping his mom cook when he was younger). He turns his head towards Keith’s to press a light kiss to his temple and nuzzles the hair there, glad the distance he feels right now isn’t physical at least.  

Once the food is done and their bowls are made, they settle on the sofa where they continue the Netflix series they’d started together some time ago. Keith’s eyes keep flicking to and from the screen, like whatever is on his mind can’t be rivaled by the show they currently have playing. Obviously, Lance doesn’t like this; the fact that Keith is upset and that Lance has no idea what might be bothering him. He thought he was getting pretty good at reading Keith, too.

“Hey,” Lance calls, gently. Keith’s eyes flick up and over to Lance’s. “Is everything alright?” Keith is quiet for a moment, looking down at the soup resting in the dip of his crossed legs. After a moment of no response, he shrugs.

A shrug from anyone else might not mean a lot, but a shrug from Keith Kogane means _so much_. It means _“I’m upset but I don’t really understand why I’m upset or how to talk about it because I wasn’t raised to understand basic social communication skills.”_ Lance knows this dance. They’ve done this dance plenty of times, and Lance knows every step. He can work with this.

“Okay,” he says, softly, placing his bowl onto the coffee table before them. “Is it maybe something I did?” Lance asks, because growing up with siblings means you learn to never rule yourself out of any problem. Keith shakes his head almost immediately. Lance allows himself to be relieved for a short moment.

“Did something happen at work?” Keith shakes his head again. Lance twists his lips in thought, hands tapping at his knees in thought. “Is it… _us_ maybe?” Keith takes a moment to consider before shaking his head, hesitating and then shrugging. _Kind of._

Lance frowns, taking a moment to consider any potential issues in their relationship. He can’t think of any at first—not real ones anyway. They playfully bicker at each other but they both know it’s all in fun. In fact, the only hiccups in their relationship have just been Keith’s cute little mishaps like the ravioli incident, the store, the dishes and… the laundry.

“Wait a minute, you aren’t still upset about the laundry, are you?” Lance asks. Keith rolls his eyes and huffs, shrugging, his body slouched in on itself. _Yes._ Lance groans. “Keith, we talked about this! It’s fine, really. I got more and now you know: never mix white fabric with colored. Besides, we established that _l_ look great in pastel pink, and not to change the topic but we found out the other night that you don’t look so bad in them yourself—”

 _“Ugh, Lance_ , that’s not it,” Keith snaps, prompting Lance’s mouth to clamp shut. Keith immediately looks over to him with guilt apparent in his expression. “I’m sorry,” Keith sighs, running his hands through his hair. Now that Keith’s letting him, Lance realizes how beat Keith looks. He regrets not realizing sooner, but well, it’s Keith.

“Alright,” Lance sighs as he turns to face Keith, bringing one leg to rest on the couch. “What is it?” Keith’s eyes land on his in a vulnerable moment before Keith looks away with another sigh.

“It’s stupid.”

“Well, if you’re upset, clearly it isn’t.”

“Well, it is.”

“Keith,” Lance says, gently. Keith’s eyes flick over to his before flicking away again.

“I just feel so useless, sometimes,” Keith finally admits, pointedly looking away from Lance, who stares at Keith in confusion.

 _Useless?_ How?

“What?” Lance says, dumbfounded. Keith groans and throws his head back against the couch’s back, a scowl on his face that Lance knows isn’t directed at anyone but Keith himself.

“Don’t act like you haven’t noticed, Lance! I keep—” Keith’s voice falters, and he takes a moment to breathe and Lance wants more than anything to reach out and pull Keith close, hug him so tight that all of Keith’s negative feelings might just seep right out of him. He doesn’t though, not yet. Keith is not used to showing his emotions and trusting somebody else to witness him in the act. He gets insecure about it, and so Lance has to be careful, and the best way to do that, Lance has found, is to just let him talk—even if it hurts Lance to watch because ultimately, it’s Keith whose upset. “I keep messing things up,” Keith finally says, legs drawn up onto the couch as he picks at his nails—a nervous habit. Lance frowns.

“Keith,” he turns his head away from Lance slightly, biting at his bottom lip to stubbornly train his face away any emotion trying to twist his features. “That’s not-”

“It is, Lance.” Keith shakes his head. “I mean, you do everything, Lance. You cook and shop and do the dishes and laundry and I—whenever I do anything to try and be useful I just end up screwing up,” Keith explains. Lance can’t clearly see Keith’s face at the moment, with Keith carefully angling his face away, but he’s sure he wouldn’t like the expression there. “I just wish I could do more for you,” and _that’s_ the line that really gets Lance, because _lord,_ if Lance could only begin to express in words or actions what Keith does for him. Truly, there will never be enough words or gestures in any language or culture to begin to explain to Keith how much he does for him, but if there was even the tiniest sliver of a chance, Lance would learn them all. Unfortunately, though, all he has is his native tongue and English and hell if he isn’t going to try.

 “You’re wrong,” Lance says, plain and simple. Keith’s head jerks over toward Lance, offering him an incredulous, albeit slightly watery look.

“Keith…” Lance begins, sighing exasperatedly because he doesn’t even know where to start. “To be honest, babe, I could care less about how you’re still learning how to _life,_ ”

“But I _do_ care!” Keith stresses to Lance, who holds up a hand and says, much to Keith’s befuddlement, “Let me finish.” So, Keith, blinks at him in confusion, but sits back and watches on as a mild expression of worry falls over him. Lance takes a breath.

“But I get it, because I feel like that all the time with you,” Lance admits and observes as Keith’s expression softens just so. “Because you’ve always been so talented- I mean you ace everything you touch, and it used to drive me crazy. And when we first got together, nothing made sense to me because you’re Keith fucking Kogane and you’re an uncertified expert on bike-mechanics, and you can somehow help me with all my classwork and you know how to fix things like, when the— _thing—_ on my car broke,”

“The radiator,” Lance snaps his fingers and points to Keith.

 _“Yes! That,”_ Lance confirms, and loves how Keith’s lips quirk up just the slightest increment, even though his overall expression remains sullen. Lance is getting there.

“You fixed it.” Lance insists with a small smile, reaching a hand out to lightly rest over one of Keith’s. “And aside from all your many talents, babe,” Lance sighs wistfully, rolling his eyes like a cliché high school girl might when they think of their football crush. “You’re amazing. Regardless of your tough-guy persona, you’re sweet, and you’re laugh is the most contagious one I’ve ever heard, and you just,” Lance sighs, running his hand along Keith’s callused one to hold it gently. “You make me so, so, so, _so_ happy, Keith.” Lance says, finally holding Keith’s gaze. “And even though you eat straight out of cans and stock up on jumbo marshmallows and put tools in our dishwasher and dye my shirts pink, baby, I would not have it any other way cause I’m pretty sure I fall a little more in love with you every single day.”

Keith’s breath hitches, his eyes flicking between both of Lance’s. He pulls back from Lance, slipping his hands from Lance’s, and at first Lance thinks that he messed up, that following his gut for words was a bad idea until suddenly Keith is wrestling him down against the couch in a bear hug, Lance landing unceremoniously onto his back against the cushions.

He lays there for a moment with Keith’s weight against his chest, looking up at the off-white ceiling before he lets his arms raise to wrap around Keith’s middle.

“Keith?”

“Quiet,” comes the immediate response, Keith’s voice cracking as he says so, muffled into the fabric of Lance’s shirt. Lance simply grins, Keith’s hold tightening around him like anaconda.

Eventually, Keith shifts, moving so that his face is instead pressed into Lance’s neck, where he presses a soft kiss. Lance can feel his nose grazing along Lance’s jawline.

“I can’t believe you,” Keith murmurs against his skin, followed by a sharp intake of breath. Lance holds him closer.

“I know, I planned on confessing in a really dramatic way but,” Lance shrugs, “That felt right.” Lance smirks, and Keith must sense it because one of his hands blindly comes up to shove at Lance’s face, who snickers and licks at the offending limb. Keith squawks and wipes his hand along the sofa. Lance doesn’t even complain about it.

Keith looks so beautiful when he finally pulls himself up to look at Lance, his elbows placed on either side of Lance’s head for support. He blinks at Lance a few times, and Lance feels the need to clarify that Keith doesn’t have to say it back, but before the words can leave his mouth, Keith is saying, “Wow.”

Lance raises a brow at him. “Wow, what?” Keith continues to study him as if he’s made some groundbreaking discovery on the canvas of Lance’s face. “Nothing, just that I love you too,” Keith answers with raised brows, like it’s a surprise to him. Asshole.

 Lance’s expression is blank for a moment, allowing the words to catch up to him before he beams up at Keith and pulls him down into a kiss. The kiss turns into multiple, and those in turn blend into cuddling on the couch, which ends with them both falling asleep there, unintentionally, folded in one another’s arms. It’s a good night.

**Bonus: Coffee**

Lance wakes up the next morning, sore, to an empty space beside him and the smell of coffee wafting through the air. There’s clattering in the kitchen, and Lance grins, knowing exactly who it is. 

Lance sits up groggily, his muscles immediately protesting, sore from sleeping on the couch. Totally worth it though.

He peaks over the back of the couch, where he can’t see the entirety of the kitchen due to the wall blocking most of it, but he can hear Keith in there and doesn’t smell anything burning so he assumes everything is fine. He stands up, stretching his arms above his head to satisfyingly pop his joints before he ambles toward the kitchen.

Lance peaks around the corner just in time to see Keith standing there, a cup of coffee held up to his lips and an open container of ice cream on the island. It’s becoming common practice for them to stare at each other in confusion, Lance is starting to realize.

It only takes Lance a few seconds to understand that Keith put the ice cream in his coffee, and Lance has to bite back a grin.

“Ice cream in your coffee,” Lance states. Keith looks down at the mug in his hands.

“We never got more creamer,” Keith explains with dismay. _Ah._ That’s what he forgot to grab at the store.

Lance nods with pursed lips as he walks over to their coffee machine, finding that there’s just enough left for him too, bless Keith. He smiles and pours himself a glass, before standing across the island from Keith. He snatches the spoon Keith used to mix his own coffee and dips it into the vanilla ice cream, plopping it into his mug along with his coffee.

When he looks up at Keith across from him, he’s greeted with the image Keith trying his best to bite back a smile as he stares down into his coffee. Lance finds it contagiously spreading to his own lips before he brings the concoction up to his mouth.

He clicks his tongue thoughtfully as the sweetness rolls over his tongue. He’s really not a fan of sweet coffee, unless it’s Café Cubano, and even then, it’s a mood. But, he does like watching Keith smile knowingly, fully aware that Lance isn’t a fan but drank it anyway, just to get a reaction out of him.  

“Tastes pretty good, babe,” he says, cheerfully. Keith quirks a brow.

“Yeah?” Keith asks with a knowing smirk, eyes full of adoration. Lance nods, and pointedly takes another sip... Only, he takes a little too much this time and can’t stop his face from twisting in distaste. Keith looks like he couldn't be more amused.

“I’ll make you more coffee.”

“Please,” Lance sighs, thankful.

So, Keith does, starting the coffee maker for another round as Lance comes to stand beside him, holding out his mug for Keith to gladly take, pouring the sweet blend into his own mug. A few minutes later, they have their preferred coffees in hand. Keith’s head falls against Lance’s shoulder.

“Thanks,” he says, and Lance knows it's for more than just the coffee offering. He smiles, and kisses the top of Keith’s head.

They’re both sore from sleeping on the couch, and their bowls are still on the coffee table, but it was a good night.

Lance has a feeling things are going to stay good.

**Author's Note:**

> So I've actually had this on the verge of completion for like a MONTH now. I just could not figure out how to end it, but I finally got it. Endings are v important to me.  
> Sorry for making Keith sad again, I definitely project onto him a little, poor bb. :,c  
> Also, super exCITED FOR THE New season tomorrow!! :,D
> 
> Also, I really don't know a lot about cars, but my parents own a car repair company and you would not believe how many times I've heard about a radiator "going", so that's just what I slapped down, lol.
> 
> Of course comments and kudos are super appreciated and fuel my happiness :,) I know I write Keith to be kind of socially air headed, but I totally headcanon him to be a social ditz and brilliant in every other aspect and I mean is that not canon???? Also, Lance probably totally knows how to life cause like, lemme tell you, growing up in a big family means you have chores upon chores. Mama don't got time for that.
> 
>  
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading! Tell me what you all think and hmu on my writing [tumblr](https://litaluna.tumblr.com) w/ headcannons and suggestions, cute prompts and ideas and literally anything! Sometime it takes me forever to respond bc some of u are 2 nice and words cannot express u///u


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